


It Will Come Back

by onvavoir



Series: The Wisdom of Crocodiles [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Turned Into Vampire, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:36:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And just when I thought you couldn't get any weirder."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Will Come Back

It starts to rain as he's stumbling towards Claire's apartment. It dilutes the heavy stench of blood, drying now inside his suit, outside, darker than the red of his armor. Matt's never done hallucinogens-- he's always been too afraid of what they would do to his senses-- but he imagines this is what it's like. Everything's too intense, he can _feel_ red all around him, and by the time he makes it to the fire escape he's only half-conscious. He pushes himself, up the rungs, halfway through the window, and then the world spins around him and away. Somewhere he hears her sigh.

"Not again."

When he regains consciousness, the suit is off. She's provided him with a blanket for modesty, although he's wearing underwear beneath it. He wishes she'd left the suit on-- he's freezing. His heart rate's so much faster than it ought to be, and his breathing is keeping pace. His teeth chatter a little. Claire is pacing in the corner, pad of her feet, movement of the air, the click of her thumbnail caught in her teeth. She comes to his side with a quickening heartbeat.

"Matt, are you okay? I cleaned you up... there's not a mark on you, so that must be someone else's blood. Great. Is it internal?"

"I'm so thirsty," he whispers.

"I'll get you some water."

She pushes herself up from the table and the squeak of floorboards goes with her across the room. The world fades for a second, and then he feels the air currents, the condensation on the side of the glass she pushes into his hand. He lifts it to his lips and tips it, raises his chin to swallow. He gags, chokes, and spits up water all over himself.

"Easy, easy... you think you can sit up?"

Matt drags himself semi-upright, puts his feet on the cold floor. He closes both hands around the glass of water and lifts it. He can smell traces of iron and copper that prick at his tongue. The water has its own smell. His gorge rises, despite his empty stomach. He tries to do it fast, get the water down before he can spit it out, but what he tries to swallow comes right back up again, like the last drink of the night that's one drink too many. He sets the glass down.

"Your skin's really dry. I think you're dehydrated. Look, I'll find you some clothes, and we'll get you to a hospital."

He shakes his head, and for once, it's not because he's worried about cops or casualties or exposure.

"It won't help. Claire... I think I'm a vampire."

She laughs-- loudly-- and then covers her mouth.

"Oh god, you're not joking. What? Why?"

He's trying not to hyperventilate. He's not sure if it's adrenaline or this monstrous craving spiralling him up into desperation and animal panic.

"The other night... something attacked me on my way home. I woke up on the floor... I felt horrible for a couple of days. Then I got better. But I can't stop thinking about it... I want blood. I can smell it, I can smell..."

He passes out. Claire's voice floats towards him over a long distance, speaking to him. 

"... any number of things that could explain this... Guillain-Barré, porphyria, rabies-- god, I hope it's not rabies-- but to find out we need to _get you to a hospital!_ "

"Teeth."

He bares them, and she recoils.

"Whoa, that's..."

"I can feel them." He puts his hand on her arm. "I don't know what to do. I can't... I don't want to..."

The world slips away again.

***

There's no telling how long he's been out. Still quiet outside, no birds singing, so not too long. He swallows, throat dry.

"Claire..."

"I'm here."

About ten feet away. Good. She shouldn't get too close. Her pulse races, smell of vinyl gloves and the coffee she's had recently. Below that, the dark scent of blood-- dried, the residue in his suit, and fresh, moving through her. His stomach growls.

"I don't know what to do," he pleads.

"That makes two of us. I still think you should go to a hospital."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Matt, you're not-- look, whatever's happened to you, this is a serious condition. I can't... "

He hears her throw up her hands.

"Just... let me stay until I can walk."

"And then what? You'll go out and-- Matt, _whose blood is that?_ "

He shakes his head. "I lost control. He was bleeding. I can-- I can smell it."

The hollow sound of her inhaling behind her hands.

"Oh my god Matt, you didn't..."

"No," he breathes. "I made sure-- he's okay... but I wanted--" Tears well up, tears he's not sure he can spare, down the sides of his face. He chokes on them, smears them away with one hand. " _I can smell it moving through you_."

The heat of it, he can practically taste it on his tongue, different from the poor bastard he mauled. Lighter, richer, a difference in bouquet like a better wine. He licks his lips. She sighs.

"And just when I thought you couldn't get any weirder."

He manages a weak smile, as weak as he was a couple of days ago.

"How long have you been like this?"

He swallows. "Couple of days. I've been so sick. I thought it was just flu... but Foggy. They came over to give me soup. I wanted-- I wanted to bite him."

He can hear the vinyl squeak against her skin as she covers her face.

"Okay. Okay. Let's say you're not completely insane-- or at least, not about this-- and this is a real thing. What the hell am I supposed to do with you? If... if you really do need blood, how are you going to get it?"

Matt shakes his head. "I don't know. All I know is I'm dangerous like this. It's taking every ounce of restraint not to get up and--"

Claire goes very still. He chokes, sobs. She smells _so good_. He's always wanted her, but now it's something different. It's more visceral even than attraction, sex, lust. It pulls from his core.

She snaps her fingers. "Butcher. Do you think you can wait until tomorrow morning? Oh shit, what about sunlight?"

"I don't think it's like that. I don't... I've been awake during the day."

"All the same. I'll put you in the bedroom, close the curtains. You should be pretty safe."

The air moves as she comes near, her scent intensifies, and Matt bites his own lip hard enough to draw blood. He's too weak to resist as she hauls him up, one arm around her shoulder. He turns his head away. She drags him into the bedroom and drops him on the bed. His limbs are heavy, but he manages to pull himself up while she closes all the curtains. 

"It's... 3.13. Won't be anything open for at least a couple of hours. Rest."

"Claire," he whispers. "Thank you."

"I hope you're wrong about this, Matt. I really do."

"... me too."

The night is long. At least in the bed he can wrap himself in the covers and be a little warmer. He can hear birds somewhere, knows the sun will be up soon. He lies in Claire's bed and thinks about the dark irony of being attacked, being _made_ into this, when he was just Matt Murdock. Claire must be on the sofa. He can hear her heartbeat. Sleeping. He listens to it for a while to give himself something to focus on. He can hear the groaning of springs and the brush of fabric as she changes position. She heaves a sigh in her sleep.

Beeping-- like a needle through his temple-- and she starts awake in the other room. Her lips smack together.

"Goddammit Matt."

At least this time it's not his fault-- at least, not all of it. He did still drag himself here with a stranger's blood all over him. Claire comes back in, climbs into the bed just long enough to check that he's still breathing, and then gets up again. Her heart's fluttering a little. 

"Okay, I'm going to a butcher's. God. I feel like I took in a stray cat. I don't suppose you'd eat cat food, would you?"

He manages a smile. He can hear her picking up her purse and keys, grumbling to herself and knowing full well he can hear every word. The door closes behind her. He listens to her footsteps all the way down to the front door and outside. The air pressure and the rise in engines and traffic outside indicates morning. The temperature rises a little, but he stays swaddled in Claire's comforter and sheets. They smell like her, but without the horrible tempting scent of blood in her veins.

Sometime later she returns, carrying a bucket. He can hear the slosh of liquid in it, and the smell of blood-- stale, cold, but it still makes his stomach churn with hunger. She brings it in and sets it down in the kitchen. He scrambles out of bed, and her heart leaps as she turns around.

"Jesus. All right, Lestat, breakfast is served."

"That's not funny." Her head tilts, and he knows she's glaring at him. "Sorry. Thank you."

"I'm just gonna... stand back. Please don't stick your head in that bucket."

He'd laugh if he weren't so famished, if the whole situation weren't so surreal and awful and strange. His stomach growls, and he pries the lid off. He _is_ actually tempted to stick his face in it. 

"Do you... have a cup or something?"

She grabs a plastic tumbler out of the kitchen cupboard and hands it to him. He swallows and dips the tumbler in. The blood's cold-- of course it is-- and a little clotted, but it smells better than anything right now. Except for Claire. He tips the tumbler up. As soon as the blood hits his tongue he tips it further, drains it, scoops again and guzzles from the glass. It's a mix of cow, sheep, and pig--somehow he knows. He tries not to think about it. He winces a little at the taste.

"What is it? Please don't throw up blood on my floor."

"It's cold."

"Oh, well, allow me to stick it in the microwave for a few minutes."

"I wasn't complaining. I don't-- I don't know how this works."

The weakness that's held him down the past two days lifts a little, and he sits back with a sigh.

"It's probably just as well that you can't see yourself right now," Claire says.

He lets out a laugh that's more than half a sob, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Tutting, Claire tears a paper towel off a roll and hands it to him.

"You want me to get you a bib?"

"No." He'll want to shower later. "Thank you. I know this is fucked up..."

He hears her shrug. "Nothing surprises me anymore, especially not where you're concerned. You uh, done?"

Matt shakes his head. He scoops up another tumblerfull and drinks it down. Not sure how much he needs, whether this will make him horribly sick, but for the time being at least he feels better. He drinks more slowly now, until he feels full. He pings the side of the plastic bucket with his thumb-- he's had half of it. The lid is somewhere nearby. He finds it and reseals it. Looks around.

"Ohhh no. You're not keeping that here. Take your damn blood with you."

It's fair enough. When he thinks he can get up without fainting, he stands.

"Where'd you put the suit?"

"Over there. But it's not like you can go out in it-- and you definitely cannot hang out here. I need some sleep."

He nods. "Do I still have some clothes here?"

"I think so."

Claire goes into the bedroom to dig through drawers, and Matt slumps against the kitchen doorway. He sits bolt upright.

"Foggy. He'll call..."

"I already called him, while I was out. I told him you'd dragged your sorry ass to my place after getting into a fight. He's pretty pissed."

It's hard to say whether that's the lesser of two evils. His phone is at his apartment, and it's not a conversation he wants to have in front of Claire anyway. He yawns, hugely. Now that he's fed, lethargy creeps in. Claire throws some clothes at him. He goes to the bathroom to shower and change. He runs his tongue across the new shape of his teeth, the canines noticeably longer than they were before. Presses a fingertip to one. If he applied more pressure he could break the skin. 

He showers away the residue of his first victim. Victim. That's what he is now. A predator. A monster. He ducks his head under the spray. He focuses his attention on soap, water, doing his best to scrub away the crawl of his skin. He washes over and over, until the smell of soap overtakes the dark scent beneath his skin.

When he steps out of the bathroom, Claire is asleep on the sofa. She snores softly, inaudible to most people. It makes him smile. Now that he has strength again, he bends down to pick her up. She wraps her arms around his neck, noses close to him, and it _hurts_. He puts her to bed and pulls the covers over her. He brushes her hair back and watches her sleep for a moment. He yawns again. Exhaustion's finally trumped adrenaline, dragging his eyelids down with the rest of him. He nods off before he can force himself back up.

Matt wakes curled up in front of Claire, her limbs wrapped around him. It's sunset. The air tastes like rain. Her arm is draped over him, heavy with sleep. He can't move without waking her. Not that he wants to. She's warm, and the rhythm of her breathing soothes him. He listens for a while, until it changes and she shifts. A quiet noise in the back of her throat, and then she pulls him closer. Presses a sleepy kiss to the nape of his neck. He freezes. Claire tucks her head down behind his shoulders.

"Claire..." he whispers.

"Hmnnh..."

"Claire," he repeats, louder.

She jerks awake and back. 

"What. Why are you in my bed?"

His face warms. "I'm sorry. You fell asleep while I was in the shower. I put you to bed, and... I fell asleep. Sorry."

She breathes in and stretches. Sighs.

"Like a fucking stray cat."

He offers a tentative smile and then makes a point of getting out of bed. 

"What time is it?" he asks.

"It's... pshh, it's 8.45. I was gonna do things today."

He turns around so she can see his face.

"I'm sorry."

He puts the suit back on. It smells of blood. He'll need to wash it when he gets home. The bucket is still on the kitchen floor, now room temperature. Matt swears. He doesn't know much about how blood coagulates, but it's been more than twelve hours since Claire brought it home.

"Don't even think about it," she says, behind him. "God knows what's in that, and it's been sitting out all day."

Matt is a little appalled that Claire would say it, even more so that before she said it, he was considering it. He sighs. At least he knows where he can find food now. He's not especially hungry, but he has no way to know how often he should feed, and how much.

"I'll go to a butcher's tomorrow," he says. "I should go." He pauses with one leg out the window. "I know I say this a lot, but... thank you."

Her hand waves little currents in the air as she gestures for him to begone.


End file.
